Jillian Chantal

Tuesday Tales’ word of the week is frost. We’re a group of authors who get together each week to write to a word prompt.

This week, I’m still working on my time travel story. Our hero has accidently traveled back into his own time.

Check out the other tales here.

When the wind quit blowing and it became light again, Pembroke could barely fathom what had happened. Glancing about, he realized he was in the exact place where he’d stopped when the battle was over and he was too fatigued to move another step. He’d gotten separated from his regiment and planned to join them the next day at the rendezvous point. Not knowing what day it was meant he wasn’t sure if he would find anyone he knew there now.

Wondering how he’d gotten here, Pembroke scratched his head. If time travel was really possible, wouldn’t he have traveled to the exact spot he left from? Why would he move hundreds of miles as well as hundreds of years? He idly wondered exactly how far the Orkney Islands were from this area outside Glasgow. He’d never been curious about that at all. No reason to be. But now the thought of a girl with hair the color of a winter frost made him curious.

As soon as his thoughts turned to Rowena, his blood ran cold. What happened to her when he vanished? Was she safe? Being chivalrous meant protecting those weaker than oneself and now he’d left her alone to fend for herself. It was unforgivable. Then he remembered he didn’t plan to leave her. He’d merely touched the tree.

Thinking he should do the same now and go back to her if he could, the sound of a cow’s bell down the lane distracted him for a moment. Turning to the noise, he noticed a young lass walking at the head of the animal who she had by a tether. Curious if he’d really made it back to his own time, he called out, “I say, do you ken the date?”

She didn’t respond until she was by his side. Peering into his eyes with her head tilted, she asked, “Are ye wounded? I don’t see any armor but were you part of the recent battle? Have ye lost yer memories, then?”

Realizing he’d left his armor in 1788 was a blow. He’d invested quite a bit of coin in his suit. To say nothing of the cost of the helmet.

“Have ye been taken mute of a sudden?” she asked.

“No. I’m sorry. I was in the battle but lost my armor.”

Reaching out, she flicked the lush fabric of Rowena’s grandfather’s cloak. “Traded it for these fine garments here.” Her eyes widened. “Perhaps you were on the losing side and are trying to sneak away dressed as far from a soldier as you could be.”

He shook his head in denial. “If that were true, would I have told you I’d been in the battle?”

“Perhaps.” She studied him. “Maybe you think I’m merely a cowherd but I’m the daughter of the magistrate out walking my cow to our pasture. How about you come with me and we’ll see if anyone can claim to have seen you on or near the battlefield and if so, which side you were on.”

Realizing his regiment could still be nearby, even though she was a mere lass with no weapon to force him to do her bidding, he nodded. “Let’s do that and perhaps on our way, you could tell me what year this is.”

Everyone knows it’s 1568. What game is this?”